


Love at Second Sight

by ljunattainable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, no actual sex just thinking about rude stuff, truck driver!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljunattainable/pseuds/ljunattainable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn’t believe in love at first sight, or second sight technically he supposes, but if he did… he wonders if this is what it feels like, you know, to people who believe in that stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love at Second Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betts/gifts).



> So a while ago, Betty Days tweeted about a truck on her street and being worried about her car (or something like that) and my mind immediately went to Dean and Cas as it has a tendency to do, but because I have been ridiculously busy work-wise and I had a couple of challenges on the go at the time, the idea sat sad and unrequited at the back of my mind. Until now.

Dean swings the truck wide through a gap in the traffic and turns it into the narrow residential street. The angle is so acute he has to keep an eye on the trailer in his mirrors to make sure it doesn’t catch the cab as it follows him around. It didn’t look this damn difficult last week when he drove down in the car to talk to the owner of the small distributor who lives at the end of the street and who’s keeping his stock in his garage, and his shed, and his spare bedroom for all Dean knows, or cares. 

At the time Dean was just glad to get this job, because it’s regular work once a week, but now he understands why other truckers turned it down. Having to drive down this street every Thursday, hoping some asshole hasn’t parked his car too far out from the curb, isn’t very appealing.

Still, Dean’s good at this, or so Sammy keeps telling him, and because it’s his own rig he actually gives a shit if she gets a scratch on her – he loves this rig almost as much as he loves his car – so if he has to creep down the street at five miles an hour in order to earn a few bucks, then that’s what he’s going to do. 

Of course, there has to be one resident who owns a big, old American car that takes up half the width of the street. Not that Dean should complain about over-sized old cars given that his pride and joy is a late sixties Chevy Impala, but this car isn’t even attractive – a huge, gold, late seventies Lincoln Continental, a damn ugly car even if it wasn’t in Dean’s way. 

Dean glares at it as he edges across to the wrong side of the street and slows down even further to drive past it. He’s barely over walking speed now, watching his progress on the driver’s side mirror just to be sure he’s clear. He’s missing the monstrosity by an inch at most. Hopefully the owner doesn’t park here every week.

When Dean’s got the cab past, he breaths a sigh of relief. The trailer’s lined up straight and it should follow along easy. But he doesn’t even have time to relax before he’s nearly jumping out of his skin when there’s a heavy, sharp thump on the side of the cab. He stomps on the brake, because holy shit what if he hit someone, and the truck lurches to a sudden halt, throwing Dean forward into his seatbelt. Thank God he was still going slow.

“What are you doing?” an irate voice asks. “You shouldn’t be driving a truck down here. You might damage my car.”

Great. Just what Dean needs – some over-precious resident nearly giving Dean a damn heart attack. He opens the window and scowls down at the man. At first glance all he can see is a mop of dark hair but then the man looks up with narrowed eyes, and holy crap but he’s pretty. If he looks that good when he’s angry what the hell does he look like when he’s smiling?

Dean gulps, and manages to force out a few aggrieved phrases. “I didn’t touch your car, man. I know what I’m doing . Maybe you should check before you start yelling at me.”

The man growls (and that voice, holy crap – low, hoarse and hella sexy), “I wasn’t yelling. Move your truck so I can check my car.”

“You’re the dick who made me stop,” Dean mutters under his breath, coming to the swift conclusion that good looks and a sexy voice don’t make up for bad attitude – way too much maintenance. Dean puts the truck into gear and moves her smoothly forward, in a perfect straight line, and yeah, he might be showing off a bit, so sue him. 

He keeps going after he passes the dick and his car because he knows without a shadow of a doubt he didn’t put a mark on that car. He watches in his rear view mirror, irritation turning into resigned amusement, as the guy checks over his car then stands in the road, arms held stiffly by his side, watching Dean until he disappears around a bend in the road.

The guy really is fucking attractive. Such a pity he’s a total asshole.

***

On Thursday, week two, Dean turns into the narrow street humming to himself. It’s been a good week. He picked up two long hauls with a load both ways and it’s given his bank account a much needed boost. Driving isn’t such a bad job, especially if you love being on the road as much as Dean does, but Dean’s in business by himself so the work’s not always regular. 

He’s in a good mood that’s only slightly dented when he sees the astrocity that is the gold Lincoln Continental parked in the exact same spot as last time. A quick glance at the house the car’s parked outside doesn’t show any sign of life but Dean thinks it’s maybe too early to assume the car’s owner isn’t in. He appeared out of frigging nowhere like a ninja last time.

Dean eases over to the wrong side of the road again and slows down to creep past the car, barely an inch between them. He’s more confident this time, having done it before, but he keeps a close eye in the side mirror all the same. Every now and then he casts a look over at the house, but it looks as if the owner isn’t in, or at least if he is he isn’t going to come out and yell at Dean today. Dean feels faintly disappointed, which is ridiculous. 

He gets the cab past the car, checks down the side to make sure the trailer’s towing straight so he can speed up safely, then literally jumps out of his seat when there’s a thump on the cab door. He slams on the brakes, cursing.

“You do know that’s fucking dangerous,” he says, ready for a shouting match, heart still pounding way too loud and fast as he winds down the window to talk to the man who yet again seems to have materialized out of thin air. 

The man squints up at him. “I apologize.” 

Okay, Dean did not expect that. The guy looks like a lost puppy, standing there, arms at his side. Dean puffs out a breath, looks away briefly, calms down quickly with a few steady breaths.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, “Apology accepted. Just stop doing it will you? It’s really not a good idea.”

“I actually meant I apologize for last week. It’s obvious you’re a good driver, and, well, I wasn’t in the best of moods. An argument with my brothers,” the man explains, “But yes, for startling you too, I’m sorry. For everything.”

The guy’s now looking up at him so earnestly that Dean rubs the back of his neck, getting embarrassed. “Yeah, well, thanks,” Dean says. The man’s face shifts subtly into the nicest smile Dean’s ever seen. Dean hadn’t been wrong, he’s even hotter when he smiles.

Dean sticks his hand out of the cab window. “Dean,” he introduces himself, laying on the old Winchester charm.

The man stares, unmoving, at Dean’s hand for what seems like an age, and Dean’s smile is starting to falter when the man suddenly reaches up and clasps Dean’s hand. His hand seems to enfold Dean’s, and his handshake is warm and firm, and Dean’s heart literally skips a beat.

“Cas,” the man says, staring up at Dean with the most amazing blue eyes. “It’s nice to meet you Dean.”

“Likewise,” Dean says, smiling down. Dean really hopes he doesn’t look as goofy as he feels as he keeps a hold of Cas’s hand longer than is maybe socially acceptable. But Cas doesn’t let go either and Dean suddenly decides he’s justified in asking him out. He’s got nothing to lose. If Cas says no, well, it’s not as if Dean sees him everyday, and he’s not going to be disappointed over the loss of another hook-up… though Cas really is extraordinarily good-looking, and there’s something about him. Dean doesn’t believe in love at first sight, or second sight technically he supposes, but if he did… he wonders if this is what it feels like, you know, to people who believe in that stuff.

“I was wondering – .” Dean barely starts when he’s interrupted by the loud, persistent blare of a car horn from behind the truck. He drops Cas’s hand like a hot potato. Dean would be the first to admit he’d forgotten he was in a truck, blocking a public road. 

“Crap,” he mutters, looking in the rear mirrors. He can’t see the car that’s making the noise, but that’s probably because the asshole’s right up his tailpipe. He glances down at Cas, who’s lost the smile, and is stepping back onto the sidewalk outside his house. 

“Goodbye, Dean,” Cas says, before turning away towards his house. Dean watches him go. Damn. He should just shout and ask him out. The car behind him can wait. It’s only going to take thirty seconds tops. The car horn blasts out again, determinedly impatient. Dean flicks indecisively between the rear mirror and Cas’s back. The car horn sounds again, and Cas turns at his door, tilting his head and squinting at Dean as if he can’t work out why Dean’s still there. Why is Dean still there. Cas is too far away now anyway. Dean sighs in frustration. Ah, well. There’s always next week.

***

There isn’t next week, or the week after that. The horrible gold car is still there but there’s no sign of Cas. Maybe Dean was just lucky to catch Cas at home the first two weeks, or maybe he just misread the signs, or even if he didn’t misread the signs, maybe in the first week between Dean’s drives down Cas’s road, Cas changed his mind.

It really shouldn’t bother Dean at all because he doesn’t even know the guy, barely exchanged ten words with him in fact, but for some reason it does bother him. Maybe it’s just the lost opportunity, the one-who-got-away syndrome, but Dean doesn’t think so. There’s something there beyond the merely physical and Dean’s only ever felt it with one person before, Cassie, way back before he was really experienced enough to understand that what they had was special, and that he was losing something profound when he left. He’s in his thirties now, on his own now that Sam’s away lawyering in South Dakota, and he’s had enough one night stands and failed attempts at relationships to know when something might be the real deal.

This might be the real deal, and he can’t not try.

***

Friday he takes a trailer to Sioux Falls, and stays over with Sam on Friday and Saturday night. He loves seeing Sam, and he gets to have lunch with Bobby too. He should be ecstatic but he’s distracted by thoughts of Cas, a man he hardly knows. Sam notices but Dean doesn’t want to tell him anything on a whim and no promise. Sam’ll only go all chick flick on him and lead Dean to expect things that might never happen. 

It turns out that Dean’s capable of going all chick flick on himself and he drives home with an emptly trailer on Sunday with all sorts of visions of future domestic bliss buzzing around his head fuelled by an imagination he didn’t know he had.

On Monday, driving the Impala, he heads out to the small street where Cas lives. Maybe their cars can make out while he and Cas are making out. 

This is how it goes in his head – Dean knocks on Cas’s door and Cas is so pleased to see him he pulls Dean into a hug on the doorstep and drags him into the house, plastering Dean with kisses and touches as they move to Cas’s bedroom where Dean works Cas open and fucks him silly, or, you know, the other way around because Dean’s not that fussy.

This is how it goes in reality – Dean knocks on Cas’s door and Cas looks surprised to see him.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas tilts his head to one side like a confused cat and Dean nearly runs away because this is so not how it was supposed to go. He’d kind of forgotten that he’s lived two years of dates, plus a marriage and two kids, in his head and Cas knows nothing about it.

Cas peers into the street behind Dean. “Where’s your truck?”

Dean shuffles his feet self-consciously. “Yeah, well, it’s not here. I came in my car,” he says, pointing behind him to where his baby is parked behind Cas’s Lincoln Continental. He stops talking. They stare at each other. Dean is not imagining this connection between them, is he?

“So you were passing… ?” Cas suggests after a moment.

“Um, not exactly,” Dean says.

There’s another silence, where they stare some more, then Cas huffs in frustration.

“Dean, I work at home and I’m on my own a lot. My people skills are rusty. You’re going to have to help me out here.”

Fuck, this is stupid. Dean hasn’t been that nervous since he was twelve. He runs a hand through his hair and Cas watches, his face giving nothing away.

“CanItakeyououttodinner?” Dean rushes out. Cas squints at him.

“Excuse me?”

Oh crap, he’s got to say it again. He takes a breath. “I’d like to take you out to dinner, if you’d let me.” Dean holds his breath as Cas’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. This is the point at which Dean might get punched. It’s not as if that’s never happened before, though come to think about it, it’s a long time since he asked to take someone out to dinner rather than just back to their place for a fun roll in the hay. 

Cas stands there looking dumbfounded. Dean shakes his head and forces a smile.

“Never mind, man. It was just a thought,” he says, trying to hide his bitter disappointment. He shrugs and turns around on the step, looking towards the street away from Cas’s house. Baby waits for him at the curb. Good old reliable baby. 

“Dean… “

“No, man, really, it’s okay.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Dean asks, distracted. He should move. Move away from the doorstep, away from the house, away from the frigging gorgeous man he was going to marry and have kids and a life with. In his imagination. Fuck his imagination. He doesn’t move.

“I’m not very good at this,” Cas is saying.

“It’s okay, Cas, really,” Dean repeats.

“Dean,” Cas insists, sounding annoyed. Cas’s hand lands on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes. Dean turns back around when Cas drops his hand. “I thought I was imagining it,” Cas says, staring at Dean. “I’m not very experienced at this sort of thing – feelings, relationships… ”

“You mean… ?” Dean asks, hoping once more.

“I mean, yes, I’d like to have dinner with you.”

Dean stutters and stammers. He wants to smile but he’s not totally convinced that Cas said yes yet. “You were avoiding me the last two weeks… ?” Maybe he shouldn’t be trying to talk Cas out of it.

“I thought I was imagining it,” Cas says helplessly, shrugging. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by forcing my friendship on you.”

“Forcing… ?” Dean stares at him affectionately. “You’re a dork,” he says.

“Is that a good thing?” Cas asks, squinting.

“In your case, definitely yes.” Dean hops down the step with an unexpected spring in his heels. Cas said yes. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Tonight?” Cas asks, obviously surprised.

Dean grins. “Hell yeah. I’ve got a lot of plans and we just wasted two weeks. We need to catch up.” He nods enthusiastically and wanders down the path backwards, waving. “Seven,” he shouts, and Cas nods, looking bemused.

Dean gets in the car and drives away with a huge grin on his face. He lets his imagination loose on where he and Cas will live after they’re married.


End file.
